


Saving the Stars

by heademptydickout



Series: The Starluster Chronicles [1]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: Clone Wars (2003) - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Alcohol, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Attempt at Humor, Clone Wars, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-07
Updated: 2020-03-08
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:42:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23054914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heademptydickout/pseuds/heademptydickout
Summary: *Book 1: The Starluster Chronicles*Ella Starluster is a feared, Force-sensitive, morally ambiguous bounty hunter with more innocent blood dripping from her hands than she cares to admit. After years of diligently running from her past, a job on Coruscant seems like the last one before early retirement to a faraway planet with beaches and normal career openings. But the attempt on Senator Amidala's life goes south, and Ella finds that the only thing between her and joining her family in the afterlife is the unfairly attractive Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi. As she accepts a position in the Jedi Order, she faces scrutiny, her past, and no short amount of bad luck, but all of it seems alright as she begins to realize the deep connection she shares with one Master Kenobi.
Relationships: Obi-Wan Kenobi/Original Female Character(s), Padmé Amidala/Anakin Skywalker
Series: The Starluster Chronicles [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1656844
Comments: 2
Kudos: 12





	1. If Wounds Could Lie

**Author's Note:**

> Hey y'all! If you're finding this story, I hope you're ready for a really wild ride, haha. A little backstory on the origins of this ditty -- I've been writing in this mini universe since I was thirteen and in love with Ewan McGregor lol. Since then, I've tried to rewrite the story and mold into something I could be proud of, as well as develop my writing style to utilize in original projects. Writing Ella's story is fun and distracting, so I try to do it as often as I can. That being said, I can't promise regular updates because of the fact that I'm a STEM major and therefore pretty busy doing non-writing things, lol. If you enjoy a little guilty pleasure reading, I hope you will enjoy this!

The first thing to register is the agony. I don't think I have ever felt pain as deep and excruciating as that which consumes the place where my left arm should be. A groan escapes my lips, fighting through the defenses I've meticulously constructed against such things. It just _aches_ so kriffing much, I feel as if a thousand knives are sinking into my flesh. But the flesh is no longer there. The Jedi removed it with a graceful slip of his laser sword, taking my dignity and no doubt my career with it.

Darkness hits me next as I find the strength to open my eyes, cold quick on its tail. The dark I don't mind -- it offers blissful separation from the pain tearing through my body, pain I'm trying and utterly failing to contain. The cold, on the other hand, sinks into my bones and leaves shivering and gooseflesh in its wake. I never did get used to chillier climates after leaving the hot, humid jungles of my homeworld.

Some of the brain cells I have left make enough connections to realize that I've landed myself in a Republic detainment cell. The exact _how_ is blurry. I remember the Jedi taking off my arm, burning pain, a face hovering above mine, moving my lips to form words I don't recall. Everything after that is fragmented at best, complete nonsense at worst. Either outcome doesn't keep me from rotting in the base levels of Coruscant while the politicians decide on the best way to execute me, as I will surely be. Senator Amidala is a well-loved figure, and has earned the respect of most of the other Senators in addition to her people besides. It's even rumored that the Jedi favor her above Chancellor. Essentially, my attempt on her life will not go overlooked, despite the fact that I didn't manage to kill her properly, only a handmaiden before Jango interfered with his stupid toys and rash confidence. Ashla knows I should not have taken this job in the first place, but credits are thin for a bounty hunter in the Inner Rim when the galaxy's at peace. I needed the money to fix my ship.

A sudden sharp stab brings me back to the present, safe from my regrets for the moment. My instincts, battling my phantom arm as they are, weakly suggest I take a turn about the cell, investigate what I can with the lights off. Unfortunately, I'm locked tight to a concrete bed, as I find out when I attempt a sitting position with less than pleasing results. Closer examination of my other senses leads me to the conclusion that metal bands are what's holding me down, trapping me rather effectively to one spot in the cell. I suppose I should expect such treatment, especially after I was stupid enough to use the Force in full view of the Jedi.

Footsteps echo far away, the sound carrying and lilting on the still prison air. The pain fades ever so slightly with this new development that I can fixate on, my habit of obsession forcing me to put all of my concentration into tracing the echoes as they grow closer and closer. When the steps are so loud my head throbs with the sound of them, they stop just outside my cell.

"She used the Force, Master."

I struggle to take in each word, knowing that any information I can glean is vital to my survival. The voice is young, too young to be inside a Republic detainment center. **_Jedi_** **,** something in me whispers, recognizing the inherent capitalization of _Force_ and _Master_.

"It's possible that her parents shielded her from our searches, or lived on a planet where we no longer conduct them. Becoming a Jedi is not an honor in every culture, especially in the Outer Rim."

This second voice is deep and serious, and I connect it to a figure I remember from the holonews -- a tall, dark-skinned Jedi Master with stern eyes and even sterner opinions on the fates of galactic criminal trials. He's wrong about my parents shielding me or my home planet being one where leaving to become a Jedi is frowned upon.

"She's awake."

The third and final voice, rich and precise with its Coruscanti accent, sends me reeling, because I know exactly who it belongs to. The Jedi who cut off my arm, inflicted all of this pain upon me, is standing just outside my cell. He should thank his precious Force I'm chained down, because nothing could stop me from inflicting this same agony on his soft Jedi -- 

A dark chuckle fills the momentary silence alight only with my furious thoughts, and part of me warily believes it is in response to these that elicits the sound of mirth. I don't have time to follow that strain to its conclusion as my body reminds me viciously what I have let happen to it. A second groan, much quieter than the first, secret one, pushes past my dry lips.

"Master," the young voice says, sounding concerned. "You look uncomfortable."

A grunt, then, "Can you not feel the pain she's projecting? It's agonizing."

I bare my teeth at that voice again, the one belonging to the monster who I will make pay for his crimes. A moment later, temporarily assuaging my fury, the pain that had been my constant companion eases, and my jaw relaxes as a sigh bubbles in my chest.

"Master Kenobi." The serious one. "Did you just heal a Republic high-level criminal?"

"Her pain was awful," _Master Kenobi_ , the name to the face and the pain, replies with a huff. "Besides, I couldn't concentrate with the noise of it. She's rather powerful with projections, evidently."

"She was skilled at Force combat, too," the young one chirps helpfully, apparently the padawan learner of this Kenobi character. I wrack my brain, vaguely recalling the name from a story that spread to my homeplanet when I was younger, about the first Jedi in centuries to defeat the evil that the Jedi were built to protect against, whatever that is.

"Whatever her talents, the Republic court system will decide her fate," the serious one says with an air of finality that is not at all reassuring.

"I thought we agreed that the Council would look into her background," Kenobi protests, sounding caught-off-guard. "Master Windu, we need to know how she managed to gain the knowledge that she has of the Force. What if there's a threat out there that we don't know about because we were too ignorant to look?"

Master Windu, as I'm assuming his name is, growls a bit in annoyance as he responds. "May I remind you _Master_ Kenobi that your place on the Council is still new, and while other Masters believe young age should have no bearing on your influence in Council matters, _I_ disagree. Only experience and age can give real wisdom."

The Jedi Master punctuates this point by stomping off, his boots making more forceful contact with the durasteel than strictly necessary. I feel rather than hear Kenobi's sigh.

"The Council is the worst," the young one spits, quick to anger just as I was at his likely age. "They shouldn't treat you like that. The others like Windu are just jealous because you're the youngest Master and member in a century."

"Relax, Anakin," Kenobi soothes, sounding mildly amused. "I appreciate your support, but the Council won't change their opinion of my influence for a long time yet."

The one called Anakin snorts derisively. "They never appreciate you like they should, Master."

"Whether or not that is true, we still have the matter of Starluster on our hands."

His words freeze the blood in my veins. After Master Windu's assertion, I'd assumed the Jedi were done interfering with my imprisonment, and I'd be free to escape or suffer my fate as I saw fit. If this Jedi still considers me a "matter," I'll have much bigger problems on my hands than some Republic security guards and interplanetary transport.

"Yes Starluster, we still plan on _interfering_ , as you call it," Kenobi calls through what is most likely the door to my cell.

"I'd forgotten telepathy was a Jedi trait," I rasp back, my vocal cords sore and dry. The Jedi Master laughs quietly.

"Darling, it's not me who's reading your thoughts. You've been projecting rather strongly since we stopped by your cell. It's a miracle Master Windu wasn't paying attention, or you'd be in much more trouble than you already are."

Before I can figure out what the hell _projecting_ is, the padawan scoffs, and I'm immediately offended.

"Master, she's not as powerful as you say she is. If she were, she'd be able to break out of those bonds right now, and probably kill us in the process."

**_If you insist_** , something in me growls. The idea that this padawan -- this _child_ \-- would dare question my abilities sparks a low flame, powerful and insistent, deep in my chest. With some level of controlled rage I test the bonds again, getting the feel for their strength. When I've completed my investigation and gotten a proper judgement, I channel power from the well of Force that has always been inside me into _lifting_ \-- and the bonds are gone.

I hear a noise of pleased surprise. "She did manage it. See Anakin, I told you proper motivation would be key in this situation."

The rage in me promptly dies at Kenobi's admittance of blatant trickery, the flame housed in my chest crumbling to ashes and replaced with something like shame. The stupid padawan had gotten a rise out of me so easily, utterly destroying my cold, passionless bounty hunter facade.

My lungs heave a great sigh, realizing the exhaustion in my bones long before my mind. They pull my head back to the concrete, glad of the darkness already engulfing me.

"Those were enhanced durasteel, Master. They hold rancors in place with that stuff." I hear Anakin say as I fall slowly into slumber. "Do you really think there's something out there other than the Sith that taught her?"

There's a moment of pregnant silence before Kenobi answers. "Whether or not there is a threat to the Order doesn't matter, Anakin. The Jedi have failed her greatly in not finding her, which no doubt caused the majority of her suffering. We owe her, padawan, because the Jedi should not cause harm in their negligence."

Anakin laughs softly. "So everything you said to Master Windu was bantha fodder?"

"Yes, Anakin," Kenobi relents, sounding more amused than annoyed. "Now let's go. She needs rest."

I fall deep into the abyss to the sound of Jedi boots traveling away on durasteel floors, the taste of Coruscanti accent and hope lingering in the air.


	2. Cycles

Ashla, I hate waking up.

The monotonous dread of existence is lightened only by the memory of a Master Jedi with an accent so sensual it should be illegal, at least until I remember the context and outcome of our first meeting. I want that mouth to be occupied in a way that's not talking, and I open my eyes with a grumble to confront the world where what I want is not what I get.

"Kriff," I mutter, realizing the lights are on after I'm momentarily blinded. My brow scrunches defensively and I raise my hand to cover my vulnerable eyes.

My cell is ... exactly what I expected it to be. Other than the slab I'm sitting on, every surface is that enhanced durasteel the padawan had mentioned. Not that there are any surfaces besides the walls and the door, the last of which appears strangely intricate for a detainment door in the dead center of the Republic. I find myself wandering over to examine it.

**_The bonds and the pain are gone_** , I think absently, running my hand over the pattern etched around the three bars in the middle that separate the grating. While I have not been trapped in a Coruscanti Republic detainment cell before, I have served time on other planets. Usually for minor offenses that were meant to hide much bigger ones, and I always escaped after a week or so. I never got caught using the Force, and I'm assuming that the pattern has something to do with the fact that I did.

"They're runes," I say aloud, surprised and intrigued by this realization. My five remaining fingers go back to poking and prodding as I mentally search through every language I know in order to identify it. Runes are generally archaic in nature, hearkening back to the galactic history lectures I sat through on my homeworld in my first year of advanced schooling. I had a knack for remembering facts, but decoding the dozens of runic writing systems we had to learn was decidedly not my strong suit. I really wish I had paid more attention, now.

I'm still wracking my brain, sorting through vaguely remembered patterns when I hear footsteps in the hall. This time I'm ready, and I easily slip on the mask of Ella Starluster, feared bounty hunter.

The act helps me focus, and I manage to count the number of beings (twenty-one) and identify their their genders (five male, nine female, seven unidentifiable) by the time they stop at my cell.

It's definitely not the Jedi, I think as the metal sheet is pulled back, revealing twenty foot soldiers bearing the Catalyxian coat of arms as well as the slippery ruler of the system herself, Governor Ivy Moon.

I allow a lazy, sly grin to pull at my lips at the sight of my old and faithful client. "Good morning, Ivy dear. Here for another hiring, or did you just miss me that much?"

"Don't play games, Starluster," Moon snarls, her pretty pink lips curling unattractively. "I paid you to be quiet, not to flirt."

My grin widens into a leer, and I lean forward to rest my arm above my head against the bars of the grating. "No Governor, if I remember correctly you paid me to quietly dispose of that husband and son you so despised, clearing the way for your reign. Never said I couldn't talk about it afterwards." I lick my lips lasciviously. "That is, unless you come in here and make me, like that time on Ryloth."

"Shut up," she snaps, flicking her long, dark braid over a heavily ornamented shoulder. Ashla knows the woman's wardrobe could feed all the hungry on the planets she's meant to protect. "I came to give you information."

"What's your price?" I ask immediately, slipping out of seductive and into business. It's always interesting to see clients' reactions when they realize I'm more than a brainless, dangerous flirt, but Moon has seen all of this before and doesn't bat an eyelash. "Nothing from you comes for free."

She bares her teeth in a passable grin, something that might have been nice to look at if her eyes weren't black as a demon's and sparkling like a madman. "You know me so well, Ella."

"Ashla I hope so," I shoot back. "Otherwise I have a feeling I'm liable to bargain something I'll regret."

"Clever girl. All I ask is a small favor, so minuscule you won't even think about doing it. It involves your friend, Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi."

I scoff. "The prick who cut off my arm? You've got to be joking."

"No joke, Starluster," she says, sounding more serious even than when she instructed me on the best way to take out her husband and son. "I need you to clip a bit of his robe."

As a bounty hunter, I've had clients make strange requests before, but none quite so much as this. I have to take a moment to reorganize my thoughts before I respond. "You want me to ... clip ... part of his ... robe?"

A blush tinges her cheeks, and I've got a rising suspicion that this little errand is much more personal than I'd originally thought.

"Swear on your life you'll do it, Starluster, and I'll give you the information right now."

"What's the drop point?" I ask, because I have to. I'd rather do this weird chore and deliver the spoils as covertly as possible than owe Ivy Moon a personal favor. As my predecessors would say, the Governor is not a forgiving bargainer.

She lets out what I assume is a sigh of relief now that I've accepted the job, odd as it is. "I'll come back to your cell. Trust me when I say you'll be spending an inordinate amount of time with our favorite Jedi in the near future."

"That's not the information, is it?" I sputter.

Moon rolls her eyes, somehow managing to make the act look seductive and haunting simultaneously. "No, idiot. Word in the Senate travels fast -- your name is on the lips of every prominent political figure in the Inner Rim, including the one you tried to kill, but not for the reason you might think. As it turns out, that particular Senator is ironically fighting to pardon you from execution as well as clear you of a remaining life sentence."

"What the hell," I say, knowing I sound like a neanderthal and far from caring.

"And that's not all," Moon continues excitedly, sounding like the gossip holocasters I used to listen to when I was a teenager. "Apparently you caught Master Kenobi's eye after that minor altercation in the underworld bar. He's campaigning alongside Amidala for your pardon, even going so far as to suggest you be taken in by the Jedi Order to save you from your powers." An unkind smile pulls at her lips. "At least, that's what he _says_ is the reason. I rather think he's tired of being celibate, and has plans to chain you up in his rooms."

I feel my jaw on the floor, but I hardly care. Everything seems to be upside down and backwards with nonsense in between. I tried to **_murder_** Senator Amidala, and now she's helping me? An absolutely fruitless attempt to be sure, seeing as there's enough red in my ledger already without the botched attempt on her life, but the former child-queen could be sacrificing a lot of influence in her precious legislative body for speaking out on my behalf. A filthy, murderous bounty hunter's behalf. The whole Republic knows damn well that the Senators on Coruscant lust for blood even as they faint at the sight of it, punishing with quick and brutal intention. And Kenobi fighting for **_me_** alongside **_her_** \-- that is just something that does not happen. The Jedi might like Amidala better than the other snot-nosed fools elected to the Senate, and Kenobi might have protected her during the Battle of Naboo, but that doesn't mean the Order likes her. The Jedi and the government have kept each other at arms length for decades. Surely I'm not the force to bring them together.

When I start registering my surroundings again, pulling myself out of the black pit of introspection and incredulous musings, Moon is looking incredibly smug. 

"I expect a rather large portion of that robe, Ella," she drawls, making a gesture that might have been suggestive and pivoting away, her escort of soldiers falling in dutifully behind.

"Gonna rub yourself with it?" I call weakly after her, too little too late. The hallway might echo with its enhanced durasteel surfacing, but Ivy Moon is long gone by the time I have recovered enough to muster a proper comeback.

With nothing better to do, I get on the ground and start trying to figure out one-arm pushups. I could do them before all this mess and bother, seeing as I had to be in top physical shape for some of the more strenuous jobs I took under the Hutts in the Outer Rim. I did one-armers with frightening regularity when I was drunk half the time and miserable the other, confined to my ship until a job came along to distract me from the pain. There are many differences between then and now, but probably the most significant is the lack of a second arm to counterbalance my weight. 

**_If I have to get used to this,_** I think, aiming for determined and landing somewhere around distressed, **_I might as well learn the hard shit first_**.

Not that I'm kidding myself into thinking that anything else will be much easier, especially hand-to-hand. It's almost an excuse to get sweaty and powerful in the hopes that Kenobi might stop by and like what he sees. 

"Shut up," I say out loud, trying to silence the sly voice pushing my attraction to the Jedi Master to the front of my thoughts, feeling my face heat. Whatever has caused this, I don't know, **_thing,_** with Kenobi, I need to kick it before it compromises my dignity or someone else finds out, whichever comes first.


	3. Falling in Circles

Determining rotations on Coruscant can be quite tricky while in prison, especially if you don't have a good understanding of complex astrophysics and spend exorbitant amounts of time tracking the Suns' paths with a stopwatch and a datapad. Fortunately enough, I got bored during my extended stint in the lower levels after my ship was damaged, and clubbing only made me hate this Forceforsaken planet more. Also, my higher education was in advanced planetary movement, which I studied more for the sake of knowledge than a career path. As a result, I know its been exactly four rotations since my first time waking up in the cell when Kenobi comes to visit.

I've stripped to leggings and an athletic binding, and I'm doing wall sits when the Jedi appears at the grate. The soothing strain of muscle distracts me so much I'm unaware of his being there until he clears his throat loudly.

"Back for more, Jedi?" I pant, keeping my position against the wall. Ashla knows my abs and thighs are screaming at me to stop, but I want to see how many buttons I can find in this supposedly unshakeable Jedi Master. My training is important, and I won't interrupt it until he gives me some sort of proof that what Ivy Moon says is true.

"If you'd like to call it that," Kenobi responds mildly, not at all fazed like I want him to be. His buttons are hiding. "I'd like to discuss something rather important with you, if you don't mind taking a break for the moment."

I shrug as nonchalantly as I can, but my heart is racing from something other than exercise. With practiced ease I flop onto the concrete slab, padded with a thin mattress that arrived in my cell after I woke up yesterday. Considering I'm a light sleeper and would have noticed if someone entered the cell, I'm convinced Kenobi had everything to do with it.

"What did you want to talk about?" I prompt when no words seem forthcoming from the Master Jedi. He starts and shakes his head as if I've jolted him out of a reverie.

"Yes," he mumbles, visibly recollecting himself. "Yes, I'm here to inform you of the progress we have made toward your release."

"Oh yes," I say lightly, opting to check my nails instead of staring into those eyes that are like deep pools on Naboo. "I've heard all about your and Senator Amidala's crusade in favor of the poor, defenseless bounty hunter."

Kenobi cocks an eyebrow, something I note he is rather excellent at. "Do you not approve?"

I cringe inwardly, but I know by the Jedi's shift in expression to more amused than querulous that some of it must show on my face. "I do, and I thank you for your generosity. I'm not versed in politics, or really any sort of etiquette except that of the Outer Rim, but I know that your work with the Senator on my behalf is not a common occurrence. I just ... don't want to live the life that you'll expect me to."

"Whatever do you mean, darling?" he asks, and I have to fight every primal instinct that I have not to drown in those beautiful eyes and soothing voice. This man has more power in simple words than other Jedi do with their lightsabers. While I'm formulating an answer, I demand to know of Ashla why she designed this man to be a self-imposed celibate. 

"It's like this," I finally decide. "If you manage to get me freed -- which, by the way, is incredibly unlikely with this batch of Senators -- then I'll be forced to abandon the only adult life I have ever known, and I'll be watched constantly everywhere I go. I'll be cajoled into giving up all of my contacts, all my secret knowledge, all my friends. I'll never be free a day in my life." At this, I take a deep breath and look him in the eye, praying that I will know how to tread water. "And if the Jedi, by some cruel trick of fate, accept me into their ranks, I'll be trapped with a capital T. Between a Council that determines my every move and the Senate keeping me under surveillance, it'll be worse than being stuck in this cell for the rest of my life."

When I'm done, I expect criticism and a thorough tongue-lashing for being so supposedly ignorant and ungrateful. But Kenobi's expression is ... understanding, I finally decide, and there is a slight smile on his lips.

"I'm sorry," he says, laughing a little. "You just sound so much like my Padawan."

I can't help the exasperated huff that escapes me. "The young one who pushed me into breaking my binders? What a compliment."

Kenobi laughs again, louder this time, and I have to shove down the sense of satisfaction rising in me because I did that, I made him laugh and I made his eyes sparkle like bright sunshine on blue water.

"You're not much older than he is, if I remember correctly." His eyes are still shining. "Twenty-four, is it?"

"How'd you know that?" I ask suspiciously. "I pulled my info chip out years ago, and all other records on my planet were destroyed."

"The Force has many uses besides running and combat," Kenobi tsks, sounding exactly how I expect he does when he's teaching his Padawan a lesson. A vaguely pleasant and simultaneously uncomfortable warmth swirls in my gut.

I swing my legs over the side of my sad excuse for a bed and rock forward onto my toes, a defensive habit I picked up after a bad job on Corellia. "I thought the Jedi considered the Force to be some sort of galaxy super glue connecting everything and everyone."

Kenobi appears surprised and pleased at my knowledge. "Yes, yes, we do actually. How did you know?"

"Why in Ashla's name would I tell you that?" I quip, winking at him. If I'm going to flirt I might as well do it properly. All this beating around the bush makes my head spin unpleasantly.

The Jedi shakes his head and rolls his eyes. "I should expect nothing less, with your reputation."

There are a few moments where neither of us says anything, and I'm drowning in awkwardness and indecision. If Kenobi were literally anyone else in the galaxy, even the Chancellor himself, I'd keep flirting mercilessly, keep pushing his buttons, maybe even steal a kiss through the grating. I am a bounty hunter after all, a scoundrel to the core, a degenerate being in the eyes of the law. I'm sexy and appealing and I know the way men look at me with intimate intentions is almost a compliment, although I had to break down some moral principles to come close to believing that. But Kenobi is the opposite. He looks at my face instead of my chest, flirts kindly instead of creepily, and by Ashla I'd be lying if the thought of showing him everything his celibacy makes him miss out on isn't appealing. 

"Ella darling," Kenobi says quietly, eyes gentle and unfairly nice-looking. "You're projecting rather loudly."

I feel a deep flush rising to cover my entire face, which I'm sure is as red as a sunset on Tattoine. "Then defend yourself or block it or whatever it is Jedi do," I shoot back defensively.

The look Kenobi gives me is passive aggressive and teasing and most definitely practiced in a mirror. "You know perfectly well that the Force does not work like that. If you didn't, I doubt we would be having this conversation at all."

"Do you really think I was trained in the Outer Rim?" I sneer, channeling my embarrassment and fear into something productive, like intimidation and defense. "I didn't have anybody to care for me out there, let alone teach me the ways of your precious Force." I have to physically prevent myself from spitting out the last word, which has suddenly become ugly in the wake of my projection problems.

"It's not just **_my_** precious Force, my little Outer Rim outcast -- it's yours too, whether you like it or not," drawls Kenobi, obviously pleased with his keen observation. Part of my hates his stupid smirk and stupid sparkling blue eyes.

"Regardless of whether I use the Force," I counter, gearing up for a doozy as I take a slow, deep breath. "I do not follow your religion. I don't agree with your beliefs and I don't plan on joining the Jedi. Conversion is **_not_** in a bounty hunter's vocabulary."

Kenobi scoffs. "That's a lie, Starluster. Plenty of your kind convert to whatever is convenient whenever it is convenient."

I don't like how he says 'your kind' like it's a nasty, forbidden race, prompting me to snarl what I say next. "The religion of a bounty hunter, no matter what they may say, is the worship of the goddess of blood and the god of wealth. If you couldn't tell from my file, I take my faith rather seriously."

"If you're really so invested in this so-called religion," Kenobi shoots back, eyes still glittering. "Then why do you call Ashla's name with such frequency? Surely the goddess of the Lasat, another name and embodiment of the Force, has no bearing on a pious acolyte of death and currency."

Rage colors my vision red. "Don't question something you don't understand, Jedi," I spit, furiously spinning away from the grating and laying down on my makeshift cot.

"Help me understand then, Ella," Kenobi pleads, sounding surprisingly genuine. "I'm not your enemy, I'm your ally. We need to trust each other if you're to make it through this."

"In my profession, to trust is to die," I shoot back, knowing how tired I sound. Ashla it's been a long rotation. I still haven't recovered even half my strength since this stupid Jedi took off my arm.

"I really am sorry about your arm," Kenobi murmurs, much more subdued. I laugh joylessly.

"What did I just tell you about trust, Jedi?"

There's a moment of silence, and I'm thinking he's gone when he speaks again.

"Call me Obi-Wan."

I snort into my pillow. The snort becomes a giggle, the giggle becomes a chuckle, and the chuckle becomes full-on hysterical laughter that I stop trying to stifle. My cheeks are wet with tears and the laughs are more like great, heaving sobs when I realize that this time Kenobi -- Obi-Wan -- really is gone.


End file.
